


Come Dawn

by Hencemyname



Category: Third Star (2010)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hencemyname/pseuds/Hencemyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hardest part of saying goodbye was giving up the fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Dawn

**MILES**

 “There’s no point in pretending that I don’t care about your opinion the most.”  James said suddenly, looking pointedly at Miles, and everyone stilled around the campfire.

 Davy, who had been hovering protectively around James, turned away suddenly; busying himself with setting up their tent.  Miles noticed his hurt expression and scoffed.  They were both idiots.  Fuck, everyone here was an idiot, himself included.  They all played these games, dancing around and around each other in desperation for connection, but pulling back when they actually made contact.  It was bullshit and so bloody boring.  So, Miles scoffed again for good measure and turned toward the fire.

 He could still feel James’ eyes boring into him as he studied the flames.  It was intense and uncomfortable. 

 “You shouldn’t care so much, Jim.” Miles muttered dismissively, because he knew his friend was waiting for some sort of response.  He continued watching the reflection of the fire bounce across his spread fingers.  “Everyone’s got an opinion and it’s usually shit.  Especially mine.”

 James struggled to his feet, drawing Miles’ eyes upward.  Davy jumped to his feet as well, ready to support James if he so much as stumbled.  Fucking arselicker; always there to catch him if he fell.  Always waiting on the sidelines like some goddamn superhero.  It made Miles sick to watch it.  And there James stood, blazing in righteous indignation like some avenging angel while he ignored Davy’s anxious lingering. 

 Were they all such a hypocritical lot?  He with his desire for detachment, and his irrational jealousy at anyone who stole James’ attention from him; James with his need to leave an impression on the world, and ignorance of the one man he impressed the most; and Davy with his desire to be needed, and hatred toward Milo for needing James.  The only exception was Bill, who had issues in spades, but of a different nature.

 “You always do this!” James hissed, drawing Miles from his thoughts.  He watched as James shoved an agitated hand through his hair, making it stand up in wild clumps.  He had managed to upset his crate in the process.  “Anytime things get too emotional, or you can’t handle something.  For once just admit that you care too, and stop being such an arse about it!”

 Miles already knew this speech by heart, having told it to himself more times than he could count.  His heart beat wildly but he knew his expression was blank as he watched James limp around the campfire and Davy flitter around like a demented hummingbird.  Emotions were complicated things that he pushed aside in favor of practical application.  He’d always been rubbish with feelings.  Could never deal with them; not his own, never mind his best mate’s.  He’d ruined so many relationships with his… deficiency— yeah that was a good word for it.

 And yeah, this was James, who was having a tough enough time of it without him being his usual acerbic self, but he couldn’t change his nature in one night.  At least that’s what he told himself when he found the next words out of his mouth were a biting, “Since when do I care?”  And watched as James’ face crumbled in bitter disappointment. 

 Davy stared at him in disbelief, as if to say, “You are such an arsehole!”

 Christ, he  _was_  an arsehole.  He knew it; Davy knew it, even Bill, in all of his optimism, knew it.  The only one that seemed completely oblivious of it was James, but fuck, he was dying so it hardly matter. 

 He really didn’t know how he still had any friends.

 Miles sighed, forcing down the acid on his tongue, and backtracked.  “I’m _kidding_.  Jesus Christ, I do care!  Fuck knows why; you’re more annoying than Bill and his love affair with tea!”

 James softened, scowl slowly turning into a look of irritated affection.  He had always been such an uncomplicated creature; quick to temper but equally quick to calm down.   Miles made a show of rolling his eyes and reaching out to pat James gingerly on the back. Inwardly, he cringed, wondering if he was hurting James by touching him.  Wondering if his own added germs would make his friend sicker.

 “Careful.  I hear sentiment is catching.”  James teased.  All the tension had left his too-thin shoulders, making everyone relax around the campfire.  Everyone but Miles.

 Bill, who had wandered off somewhere at the start of their argument, returned with a steaming kettle, and incidentally, dripping wet.  “Cuppa?”  He offered brightly.  And startled as everyone burst into laughter.  “What?  Did I miss something?”

 “What’d you do, go for a swim?  And what in the blazes happened to your hand?” James asked laughingly.

 “Well,  _some_  of us like being clean—even if it’s clumsily executed.”

 Miles chucked along with everyone else but inside, his chest was numb.  He watched James sit back down, predictably Davy along with him, and wondered how long he had before it became too late to apologize; before he said one insult too many and James was no longer there to forgive him; before…

Before.

He cleared his throat and quickly wiped his eyes, turning his attention back to the roaring depths of the fire as his friends talked animatedly around him.  He didn’t notice Davy watching him.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

  **DAVY**

Six months.  That’s how long the doctors had given James.  And that had been four weeks ago.  They were fighting against time, against a diagnosis without a cure.  The end of each day took a little piece of James along with it, like some morbid hourglass counting down the sands until doomsday.

 And here he was, forced to watch his best friend waste away into a shade of his former glory.  James, who wanted to be a writer.  James, whose needs were specific and simple; never asking more of his friends than they were willing to give.  Case and point: his dying wish had been for the four of them to road trip to some obscure beach they stumbled across a few years ago, and relive a little of his past.  If it had been Davy dying, he’d have demanded a feast followed by a trip to the Caribbean.  Out of the four friends, James was the one who deserved this death sentence the least. 

 Rhabdomyosarcoma was a slow, malicious disease; the pain chipping away steadily at James’ health and dignity until there was nothing left but a sickly, wretched man.  Davy had lost track of how many times he’d been forced to carry his friend away from chemo because he was too weak to stand on his own.  He wanted to rail and rage at God for the injustice of it all but he held his tongue as James withered away to skin and bones; patiently wiping away tears and cleaning up blood-filled vomit on the days his friend was too exhausted to move from his bed.

 And he had been there from the very beginning; quitting his job as PR department head in favour of caring for James.  He’d saved up a bit of nest egg already, and could do without the added stress of meetings and deadlines.  He’d lied when his friends had asked, of course, and told them that he’d been made redundant because the reality was far more complex:  He cared for James.  Loved him like the brother he’d lost to suicide all those years ago, and didn’t want to see him meet a similar fate.  It killed him to see his friend like this, forced to shoulder this sickness while Miles fucked around with his sister behind his back and Bill… well, Bill was too preoccupied with his own troubles to realize what was going on with their friend.

 Some days, Davy thought about taking the track Miles had and just leaving James to go it alone; only occasionally dropping by for a quick chat and a hasty retreat.  But then he’d picture James writhing on the floor from the pain, nobody around to hold his hand through it, and hated himself for ever thinking he could do something like that.  He didn’t have that kind of cruelty in him.  He’d rather clean up shit and vomit for the rest of his days than admit that he was scared of watching James die.

 So, Davy moved into Giltar Grove, and became James’ unofficial caretaker.  Nurse, friend, surrogate brother.  The titles all twisted and ran into each other until his name became synonymous with medication and routine.  He never hated himself more than the days he had to force more of the doxorubicin cocktail into James’ tired body, which always ended in a screaming match and pills knocked all over the floor.  James hated that it made him so tired; complained that his hair was coming out in patches because of it, while Davy argued that James wouldn’t get any better if he didn’t at least try to follow the medication regiment. 

 “It’s not making me better!” James had screamed between dry heaves into the rubbish bin one particularly grueling evening.  “I’m fucking  _dying_!”

Davy steeled himself every morning for these battles, never sure what the day would draw from James: anger and pain, detachment and pain, or worse still, melancholy and pain.  That last one was the worst to behold.  James would drink himself into a medicated stupor and cry against Davy’s shoulder, slurring apologies for things that his body couldn’t control; Davy would insist that it wasn’t his fault, even as he inwardly cursed the circumstances and the damn medication for making James so ill that he could barely hold is head up.  Then they’d pass out—James from the morphine and Davy from the mental exhaustion—both of them completely worn out and a hair’s breadth away from giving up.

 And Miles, that bloody coward…  God, if the bastard only knew how many times James had questioned himself because of the man’s absence; making excuses and putting the blame everywhere but where it belonged: solely on his own selfish shoulders.  Then, their supposed “friend” had the audacity to show up for James’ birthday road trip when none of them were expecting him to take any time from his self-involved life.  Davy knew he was going to snap and end up decking the man at some point.  It was really a matter of when.

 James had always placed too much stock into Miles’ opinion. He had the sensitive soul of a poet whereas Miles had the harsh, poisonous nature of a viper. The two of them should have been oil and water, but James refused to let it become that way.  He was stubborn like that.  The more Miles pulled away, the harder James clung to him.  What started as bonding over a shared admiration for Miles’ father became a study in all the ways Miles could push James away.  It was depressing knowing that Davy could give up his own life to make sure James’ was easier to bear—he’d done just that, in fact—but that it all meant jack shit in comparison to a second of Miles’ attention.  All the man had to do was show up and the whole day was instantly better.  If he sounded bitter, it was only because Miles was a destructive tosser and Davy had always been the one to clean up his messes. 

 This went as far back as childhood.  Davy remembered an incident where Miles had stolen James’ favourite toy train right out from under his nose and broken it.  When Davy had demanded Miles apologize, James had just mumbled that trains were for babies anyway.  And that had been that.  No apology forthcoming.  Although they’d only been six years old at the time, it was like horrible foreshadowing for the rest of their lives: Miles hurting James in some form, and James shrugging it off.  And Davy, like a fool, waiting to step in if things got too rough.

 He  _was_  a fool.  If he had the sense God gave a squirrel, he’d stop caring so much.  But it wasn’t who he was.  He was a slave to his nature.  Wasn’t caring supposed to be a good thing?  It didn’t feel like it.  So, he’d bit his tongue and grudgingly accepted Miles’ presence on their trip.  It had been almost worth it to see James light up when he found out who’d be going along with them.

 And now here they all were, huddled around a campfire after a minor row, while Miles wept silent tears for their friend away from prying eyes.  Davy didn’t know he had a caring bone in his body.

 It was a fucking miracle.

 Davy breathed in the heat from his steaming mug of tea, feeling tension loosen in his chest for the first time in months.  Even though the sting from James’ words had yet to fade, he felt a small flare of hope for the first time in nearly a month.

* * *

 

**BILL**

Bill tried to live his life by three basic principles: Do what you love; love who you could; and buy only what you couldn’t grow or make yourself.   He was uncomplicated that way.  He found solace in the simple things.  He freely admitted that he was prone to great bouts of optimism.  Some people just saw the joys in things easier than others.  He’d never thought of it as a bad trait, and he never blamed others when they couldn’t always appreciate life’s Great Mysteries.  He was one of the lucky ones.

 At least until everything in his life turned arse-up: Abby cheated on him, resulting in a child that may or may not be his; the studio he busted his arse for had given him an ultimatum: his soul for job security; and most importantly, most devastatingly of all, his dearest friend was given mere months to live. He was watching his life wend its way down a dark, disgusting path, and there was nothing he could to stop it.  He rather felt like Rose when she had been standing on the hull of the Titanic, looking down into the freezing Atlantic below.

 Bill had never dealt with the possibility of death before.  Even his grandparents were hale and hearty back in Scotland, pushing their 90s and as active as ever.  He’d never had to hold someone’s hand as they breathed their last or, God forbid, give a eulogy at their funeral.  Part of him—that enduring, optimistic part of him—thought that James would fight this as surely as he fought everything else.  That he’d emerge victorious by stubbornness alone.  And lord knew James was one stubborn shit.  Maybe all he needed was someone to remain at his side, encouraging him to keep fighting. 

 So Bill tried.  He went to meetings, read support books, and swung by James’ as often as he was able to between Abby and work.  He thought he had done everything right.  He’d even started growing a Larch tree from seedling, picking that specific tree for its symbolism: a Larch was hearty; gracefully enduring cruel winters without the protection of its pine needles, which always found a way to grow back come springtime.  All it needed was a little love, and it would thrive despite its many odds.  It was supposed to symbolize James and Bill’s hope for him—resiliency.

 And then he’d lost his temper and chucked it into the sea.  All that effort, all those months spent in the nursery talking to the slender sapling he’d affectionately nicknamed “Jimmy”—all for naught.  It was now drowning in the tides of the Bristol Channel.  He’d lost it to the fucking sea.

 No, he couldn’t give up that easily.  He was nobody’s fool, not even his own.  He’d get the damn thing and plant it in honour of James on the Bay.  It was the least he could do for his friend.

 So, Bill waited until everyone had wandered off to the campfire before making his excuses (“Tea, anyone?”) and heading down toward the shore.  He hadn’t been able to see heads nor tails in the dark, but he’d risked wading into the water for a few minutes in hopes of rescuing Jimmy.  A few minutes had turned into ten, and ten into fifteen.  It wasn’t until he pulled himself out of the water, freezing and tree-less almost thirty minutes later that he’d collapsed onto the rocks and sand, and shattered.

 In that moment, he was filled with a bone-deep self-pity for everything in his life that had gone to shit.  He hated himself for every stupid, optimistic thought he’d ever had that had gotten him nowhere.  He hated himself even more for feeling sorry over his pathetic life while James probably would have killed to have a chance of a life— any at all.  Bill could at least fix the simple things and make the best of the rest; whereas James was stuck with his lot until his foregone conclusion. 

 Mostly, though, he hated himself because every consequence had been the results of poor decisions on his part.  Each choice brought him to where he was at this very moment, and he had no one to blame but himself.  He was a firm believer in making one’s own bed— and he was most assuredly lying in his.  He could have left Abby; could have packed on overnight bag, hopped in his Jeep, and driven to a motel to figure out his next step.  He could have found a higher paying job that better met his needs.  He could have… well, there was nothing that could be done about James.  Not really.  The hand James had been dealt was as inevitable as his own.  And wasn’t that just the crux of it all?  The uncontrollable details were often harder pills to swallow than the others.

 There was no fixing this.  Death was incurable.

 He snapped, and punched the ground, wincing when his knuckles encountered jagged rock.  Cradling his hand against his chest, he stared out at the black expansion of sea.  In a few minutes, he’d have to return with tea and a smile or everyone would worry.  Reliable Bill;  _quick with a joke and to light up your smoke_ , as that old Billie Joel song went.  His chest heaved as he struggled under the crushing weight of sadness.

  _But there’s someplace that he’d rather be._

He wept silently; watching errant larch needles float out with the tides.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**JAMES AND DAVY; A Dialogue**

**(Set after James’ Announcement)**

 Davy stared at James, his brown eyes murky with fear and pleading.  James’ were a solemn grey, matching the tides he planned on stepping into come dawn. 

 “Please don’t,” Davy started but James was already shaking his head.

 “Look, Davy—”

 “No,  _you_  look, James!”  Davy interrupted. “You might think that you’ll stop hurting and god, that might be true.  But you’ll be leaving us all behind.  Leaving us to pick up the pieces because you can’t be arsed to ‘do it anymore’. 

 ”It’s not just you this disease has affected, and I know I probably sound like ten shades of arsehole right now, but it’s not only about you!  It’s affected me— us— too!  We’ve watched you fade away bit by bit for months now.  You think we want to lose you this way?  Not when there’s still a chance…  Not when there might be the slightest hope… Fuck!  Please don’t give up on yourself.” 

 Davy’s fists clenched by his side as he panted for air; the emotions depleted everything in him.  He inhaled shakily, and choked out, “Not when I haven’t given up on you.”

 James reached for him, his eyes sad and so very ancient in that moment.  “Davy—”

 ”Shut up, Jim!”  He snapped, stepping away from James and out of reach.  “You don’t get to make excuses, you selfish shit!  You don’t get to decide something like this.  It’s not just about you anymore.  Not when I’ve been here the whole time, watching you— Fuck, Jim…  Fuck!  You have no idea how much this is destroying me!  I gave up everything for—and now—God!  You’re just so fucking selfish!”

 James swallowed heavily.  His hand was shaking as he reached for Davy.  “You’ve seen what it’s done to me.  I’ve got nothing left. It’s taken everything: my dignity, my strength, my life… What more do I have to give?  When will it be enough?”

 ”Never!”  Davy hissed.  “Don’t you see?  It will never be enough!  I want you fighting every step of the way!  I want you digging your fucking heels in and taking every agonizing thing this bloody awful disease has to throw at you!  Because fighting means you haven’t given up. It means that you’re  _alive,_ even if it’s just for one more minute _._ You can’t just roll over and…and…”

 James laughed but it was humourless; a dry and brittle whisper of air in the night.  “You can’t even say it.  I’m bloody dying and you’re too afraid to admit it.”

 Davy was already shaking his head, frantic jerky movements in his haste to deny.  “There’s still a chance.  Technology is always improving.  You can’t know for sure—”

 “Then why are you so afraid?”  James asked, not unkindly.   When Davy didn’t answer, he stepped forward; drawing his friend into a hug.  He protested at first, gently shoving James away but he only held on tighter.  “Please understand.”  He pleaded, and felt his friend slump in defeat, delicately hugging him back.

 ”I am scared.” Davy admitted into his shoulder. 

 James squeezed his eyes shut, as he felt the material of his shirt dampen. “I know.  It’s okay.”

 What he couldn’t admit was that he was scared, too.

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. I have to admit that getting in these characters' heads was both trying and emotionally wearing. At the start, Bill was my favourite character until I had to write through Davy's eyes. I really didn't realize just how much Davy had sacrificed until I forced myself to step into his shoes for a bit. It only made the scene at the end of Third Star more painful as he struggles after James, even though he can't swim. You don't know for sure if he's had a change of heart or just wants to be there with his friend as he takes his final breath, but either way, it's heart-breaking. 
> 
> Writing this also brought to light a few details about the four friends' friendship that I didn't notice during my fifth (shameful lol) viewing of Third Star-- James is a bit of a social buffer between the four of them.


End file.
